


Truth Of The Matter

by Darkrivertempest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkrivertempest/pseuds/Darkrivertempest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy has just been released from prison, needing to report to Hermione Granger for approval on all his work. But things are not as they appear. Fed up with all the secrets, he devises a way to divine the truth from a certain Gryffindor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pettybureaucrat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Pettybureaucrat).



> Written for pettybureaucrat at the 2009 hp_porninthesun fic exchange on Live Journal.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters and canon Potter Verse belong to JK Rowling and associates. I am in no way affiliated with Warner Brothers, JK Rowling, or Scholastic. I do not make any money from the publishing or writing of this story.
> 
> Many thanks to my lovely beta, Sotia!

“It is the preliminary decision of this Wizengamot that you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, be sentenced to a term no less than twenty years in Azkaban prison, for crimes committed by your person during the Second Wizarding War.”

Kingsley Shacklebolt’s strong baritone echoed throughout the cavernous chamber which was filled to capacity by every judicial and legislative member currently holding a position, to include laypersons directly involved in Draco’s sentence. 

The young man in question stood silently upon the dais, a single shaft of bluish-white light shining on him from above and casting his scarred face in shadows. He showed no sign that the sentence affected him in the least, merely starring at the podium in front of Shacklebolt.

“However, your redemptive deeds have been brought to this court’s attention, as well as the resulting actions which led to the downfall of Voldemort,” Kingsley intoned, not unkindly. “Furthermore, you are the sole heir and owner of the Malfoy name and estates, since your parents’ untimely demise. With these events in mind, the court has favoured a commute of your sentence.”

Draco continued to stare ahead with no visible response to the Minister’s pronouncement.

“Mister Malfoy, do you comprehend what I am telling you?”

Once again, there was no reply, just a vacant expression.

“Minister, if I may?” Luna Lovegood inquired as she stood.

With a nod from Shacklebolt, Luna made her way down to stand in front of Draco who didn’t register her presence until he felt her cool fingertips prying his tightly gripped hands apart. 

Slowly he lowered his gaze and blinked. “Lovegood?”

She smiled enigmatically and held his hand. “Have hope, Draco… the truth will set you free.”

He frowned fiercely, watching her pat his hand affectionately then return to her seat. _Chit’s still off her rocker_ , he mused, daring a glance to the dark man perched high above the crowd. 

“Do we have your attention now, Mister Malfoy?”

Draco’s eyes widened somewhat, realizing the daft blonde had stirred him from what would’ve been a disastrous chain of events. “Yes, Minister.” He bowed from the waist. “My apologies.”

Kingsley cleared his throat. “As I was saying, a light has been shed on your activities before the war came to an end, and being that you are now the only living Malfoy, it is this court’s decision to commute your sentence.”

“Yes, sir… Thank you.”

After several moments of silence, Shacklebolt chuckled in spite of himself. “Do you not wish to know the revised judgment, son?”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting to Kingsley’s assumption that he could call him ‘son’. “I will, of course, abide by whatever the high court deems necessary.”

“It is good to see the fire still resides within you,” the Minister observed with a smirk, noting the young man’s defiant eyes. “You’ve mastered several magical abilities and skills, have you not?”

“You would have to be more specific,” the blond drawled. “I have so many.”

The older man arched an eyebrow in amusement. “It seems a stint in Azkaban has not robbed you of your cheek.”

“It is the only thing I can call my own… _sir_.”

Ignoring the young man’s jibe, Kingsley moved forward. “You are to work in the Development Department, Mister Malfoy, and any creation or invention that is noteworthy will become intellectual and physical property of the Ministry. All others will be marketed and dispensed, the proceeds to be donated to charities that support victims of the war. You will receive a stipend as payment, but the Malfoy assets will be liquidated for reparation to those most affected by the war, namely the Weasley family.”

Blood seeped onto Draco’s tongue as he finally bit through a section of his cheek in order to control his emotions. Why was his family’s hard earned — well, no, it was all old pure-blood money, but still it was _their_ money, nonetheless — going to pay for Fred and Ron Weasley’s deaths when he’d had nothing to do with them? He hadn’t caused the explosion that had sent Fred to his external joke shop in the sky. He hadn’t been the perpetrator of the killing curse flung Ron’s way that fateful night, just before Voldemort had fallen. So why should he be made responsible for…

“… and you will report to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement — Miss Granger. Do you understand and comply with this sentence?”

Damn, he’d missed half of the requirements he was supposed to fulfil. “Yes, Minister.”

“Good. As a matter of note, you will be able to retain Malfoy Manor, seeing that it is a family estate and has been so for hundreds of generations,” Kingsley told him, closing a rather large tome on the podium.

Unadulterated relief swept through Draco’s thin frame at this news. The family mansion would remain his; the antique furniture, his mother’s things, his father’s trappings – all to stay safe from thieving hands. 

“Thank you, Minister,” Draco said sincerely. 

“You are free on your own recognizance, but you are being monitored, have no doubt,” the Minister warned. 

He’d expected no less. “Understood.” 

Having been dismissed, he stepped down from the dais as the manacles and chains that surrounded his ankles and wrists disappeared, leaving raised welts in their place and causing him to rub his skin to regain feeling in them. 

“Are you ready to go?”

Startled, Draco turned and peered at the platinum blonde girl once more. “Go where? And what makes you think you’d be going with me?”

Luna was unfazed by his gruff demeanour. “Back to the mansion, of course. Since I’m your court-appointed observation officer for the next few days, I need to set up the wards and safeguards on the property, so you may move about freely.”

“Malfoy Manor already has wards and—”

She shook her head. “They were removed by Bill Weasley after your parents died. It was the only way the Ministry could approach the house without being burnt to a crisp like a vampire on a sunny day.”

The frail man crossed his arms to keep his anger from escaping, his lip curled into a sneer. “What makes you think I can’t break through anything you conjure, Lovegood? You’re not a genius with fail-safes.”

“I have no doubt you’d be able to break through them… in time,” she countered with a smirk. “But with the longevity component of the wards, it would take you three-hundred and twenty-two years to do so… and I don’t think you’ll live that long.”

“Am I allowed to swear at you?”

“If it makes you feel better, by all means.”

For the next five minutes, Draco Malfoy let loose a string of blue curses the world, Muggle and Wizard alike, had never heard before. Such epitaphs included, ‘I hope Centaurs gnaw on your limbs and leave the bones to bleach in the scorching sun,’ and ‘If my father were alive today he’d be drinking himself into a stupor with that stench-filled, pus-blossom of a caretaker, Hagrid’.

“Pus-blossoms are actually quite nice smelling,” Luna corrected during his tirade. 

He stared at her incredulously. “ _I_ smell like pus-blossoms, you barmy bint!” he hissed, pointing at himself. “And I can’t stand it!”

“It’s an acquired scent, I must admit.”

Realising the certifiably insane woman would never rise to his baiting, he heaved a heavy sigh and muttered, “Can we just go, then?”

“Oh! Are you done? I thought you had a few more left.”

He snorted. “I do, but I’m saving them for a more appropriate time.” 

She smiled serenely and wrapped her arms around him, paying no attention to the stiffening of his body. “Okay, let’s get you tucked in!”

As they Apparated to the Manor, Shacklebolt broke down with laughter, turning to the woman sitting right behind him and out of view. “Miss Granger, you definitely have your work cut out for you.”

Rich, brown eyes met the Minister’s and Hermione smiled thinly. “I do, indeed.”

~*~

Five hours later, Luna sat across from Hermione Granger in the darkened office, a single luminary casting a soft and comforting glow around the two women.

“Is it done?” Hermione asked.

Luna tilted her head and contemplated her friend. “Yes. Are you going to tell him that it was your testimony that persuaded the court to revise his sentence?”

The brunette narrowed her eyes. “Stay out of my head, Luna.”

“That’s not where my focus was directed.” Leaning forward, the blonde crossed her arms on the edge of the desk separating them and laid her chin atop her forearm. “I was aiming more towards your heart. Besides, I think he deserves to know.” 

“Well I don’t want him to know,” she replied petulantly. “Then all I’ll hear is how he doesn’t want pity or some other non-existent emotion from a Mudblood, and he’d rather be shipped back to Azkaban.”

“Perhaps,” was all Luna would say.

“I just…” She groaned in frustration. “Sometimes I curse the fact that Professor Snape survived and Ron didn’t, that Snape chose _me_ to see his interactions with Draco through the Pensieve, that Draco refused to identify us to his parents and deranged aunt, that Draco gave Harry the Elder Wand, and—”

“That’s a lot of cursing,” Luna mused. “Did you know Draco can curse like a Muggle sailor?”

Even though she’d known Luna for years, Hermione could still be taken aback by her offbeat comments. “Uh, no… I didn’t.”

“Yes, he was rather fond of the word ‘fuck’.”

Hermione snorted with laughter. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

Luna smiled slyly, knowing she diverted her friend away from a possible stress meltdown. “His scar still pains him, though. I don’t think they allowed for proper treatment in prison.”

“The one on his face, from the chandelier?”

She nodded. “It’s quite a long gash, running from the middle of his eyebrow to the underside of his chin. It looked very angry today.”

“But that was over a year ago!” Hermione huffed. “Surely they mended it with—”

“From what I gathered, he was refused treatment because one of the guards was a distant relation to Katie Bell and he took great exception to the necklace incident,” Luna explained. “I can tell you, though, even if you healed it now, it would still leave a mark because it’s been left for too long without proper care.”

“Do you think…” She paused for a moment as she thought of something. “Do you think he’d allow me to look at it, see if there is something that can be done?”

Luna shrugged. “I could ask tomorrow.”

“No!” Hermione nearly yelled. “I mean, no, don’t ask him… he’ll just see it as some way to bring down his defences, say he’d rather have Harry touching him than a Mudbl—”

“Through all of his cursing today, he never once used the slur of Mudblood, Hermione,” Luna stated with a bit of force. 

Her eyes widened. “Not once?”

“Not even a hint.”

“So do you think…”

Rolling her eyes, Luna smiled. “I’ll ask him.”

Hermione smiled tentatively for the first time since the whole mess started. “Yes, please, ask him.”

~*~

One week later, a black-cloaked figure stood in her doorway, the cowl so far over his face Hermione couldn’t tell at first who darkened the entrance to her office.

“May I help you?” she asked politely, figuring someone got lost on their way to a different department, which happened often.

Instead of answering, the stranger stepped over the threshold and shut the door, moving around the spacious room slowly as he perused the photographs adorning her walls. The lanky frame stopped before one particular picture, the one of Hermione, Ron, and Harry standing together before the Hogwarts Express. He studied it intently with his hands behind his back, then moved away, only to halt his steps in front of her desk.

“I don’t know. Can you?” the voice rasped.

She leaned forward in an effort to see under his hood, but he retreated. “Draco?” she asked hesitantly.

The dark figure bowed his head. “You wanted to see me?”

“Luna spoke with you?”

“It’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” he drawled.

She huffed in irritation. “Do you answer every question with a question?” 

“No, do you?” he chuckled lightly.

“Prat,” she muttered, indicating he was to sit, though he ignored her.

“At least you don’t have some idealized notion that my personality has changed because of my incarceration.”

“I have no grand illusions on that part, no.” She sighed, rising from her chair and coming around to lean against her desk, since he refused to take a seat.

“Then why am I here? Lovegood spins me a nice little ditty that within a week’s time I’m to report to you for a check-up,” he groused. “Why? Is my work not satisfactory?”

When she saw Luna the next time, she was going to have a serious discussion on what information to pass on to their charge. Looking over her shoulder at the latest potion’s formula coming from his lab gracing her desk, she shook her head in amazement. 

“Your work is exemplary, especially this particular chemical compound,” she explained, pointing to the paperwork. “Luna was supposed to offer you the chance to heal your wound, not report for a check-up.”

Moving quickly, he stood directly in front her, the tip of the black hood touching her forehead, yet still she couldn’t see his face. “You think you can heal this?” He gradually pulled the cowl down to reveal his damaged face.

Unable to help herself, Hermione gasped at the inflamed, red, and puckered wound that ran the length of his face, from eyebrow to chin. He glimpsed the revulsion in her eyes and backed away.

“I’ve tried to heal it myself, but I have a limited use of magic allotted to me,” he enlightened her. “I can’t even conjure a simple sleeping draught with what I’ve been given,” he growled, threading his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I have to do practically everything by non-magical means.”

Her jaw dropped slightly. “Even your calculations for the formulas?”

“What part of _they restrained my magic_ did you not understand, Granger?”

Grabbing the documentation, she flipped through the parchments, her brows drawn in confusion. “Draco, these equations are beyond most experienced professors. I wouldn’t even dream of attempting them without magic.”

“So?”

She narrowed her eyes, exasperated. “You mean to tell me you configured all these calculations by hand?”

He leaned into her face, his nose touching hers. “Let’s go over this slowly, Granger: I did… _everything_ … by… bloody… hand.”

Licking her lips, she dared to return his stare. His gray eyes were belying the hurt and confusion swirling inside him as he watched her tongue in fascination. “I can help you,” she whispered.

His eyes darted back to hers. “Sod off,” he growled and turned away. 

“But I can help ease the pain from—”

“I don’t want your fucking pity!” he roared. “You have no idea of my pain!” He was seething with anger now, clutching his chest, hinting at something altogether different.

“You deserve a chance to—”

“Spare me your deluded notions of my part in the war… _Granger_ ,” he spat, struggling not to use the old insult. “I was a coward — end of story.”

“It’s a constant, unanswerable question whether any behaviour based on fear of punishment can be regarded as cowardly,” she insisted fervently, trying to contradict his opinion of himself.

He laughed mirthlessly. “And what tome did you regurgitate that from?”

“None,” she ground out. “It’s a simple observation.”

“Dear Merlin’s balls,” he huffed. “I’m not some hero like Potter; why are you being so bloody persistent in this?”

“Because I can help.” She came to stand in front of him and cupped his cheeks, wincing as he did when she touched the edge of the irritated welt. “And just for the record, you _are_ a hero, Draco Malfoy.”

Rolling his eyes, he tried to remove his face from her hands, but she held on fast. “Leave off, woman!”

“Quit being such a bloody git,” she murmured absentmindedly, studying the wound. 

Closing his eyes, he gave up the struggle and allowed her to do as she pleased. A sense of peace washed gently into him as her soft fingertips probed the painful area, infusing him with relief and comfort, the pain lessening significantly. Opening his eyes in astonishment, he caught a spark of something brilliant in her gaze, as she smiled shyly and continued her work.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, puffs of his breath causing strands of her hair to sway.

“Helping you,” she answered softly.

“Why?”

“Because I see something different in you. Plus, you saved my life. I’m only repaying the debt.”

His eyes shuttered as he withdrew into himself. “I’m not a fucking hero!” he hissed.

She stopped his recoil by gripping the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “A hero is no braver than an ordinary person, Draco,” she assured him. “It’s just that a hero is braver five minutes longer.”

Waiting until she relaxed her grip, he removed himself from her grasp. “Spare me your endearing platitudes, Granger.” He pulled the cowl over his head. “I need to get back and finish my current formula. Since I’m resorted to doing everything by hand it takes much longer than normal.”

The slam of her office door startled her, even though she knew it was coming. Slumping onto the overstuffed sofa, she wiped her eyes free of the scant tears that gathered whenever she delved deep into someone’s psyche, wishing desperately the blond Slytherin would trust her. 

Just in case, she wouldn’t hold her breath.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione panted, waving a file folder in front of her face. “Will this heat never end?”

Looking wilted, Luna cast _Intrecciatura_ on her hair, which plaited the blonde strands into multiple braids, then spelled them to be continuously lifted from her neck. After she was done, she had the appearance of a severely deranged, multi-braided Pippi Longstocking, _sans_ the red hair. 

“Much better,” she sighed in relief. “Father once wrote an article about something called ‘global warming’ and blamed the increase in the Earth’s temperatures on cow farts.”

Hermione stopped her fanning and stared at her co-worker. “That’s utterly absurd, there’s no scientific proof for that.”

“There’s no reason, magical or otherwise, as to why it’s so hot in the Ministry today… yet here we are, sweltering as if we were in the Sahara.” She arched a brow as a thought came to her. “Unless…”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. “George Weasley is mucking about with the ventilation system.”

As if on cue, George walked into their office and shut the door. “Ladies.” He acknowledged them with a nod. “How goes it with my two favourite, non-familial women?”

“You scoundrel,” Hermione ground out. “What have you done? I’m melting here!”

“Such slurs, Granger,” he teased, tweaking her nose. “I think I’ll take back my new and improved, soon-to-be-patented Daydream Charm.”

“Why new and improved?” Luna asked. “You can’t have something be new _and_ improved, it’s either one or the other… but on the off chance, do you have one where I could imagine myself on a polar ice cap?”

Digging around in his pocket, the redhead looked at the handful of circular pills in his hand before plucking a blue one from the bunch. “Just for you, love.”

“Remind me to hex you when I wake up,” Luna sighed, putting the flat disc under her tongue. “See you in a half-hour,” she murmured then promptly passed out on the couch.

“More like an hour,” George told Hermione. “That’s the _improved_ part.”

She sifted through the remaining charms. “What else is different?”

“Got rid of that nasty drooling side effect.”

“That’s a relief,” she muttered. “You know, I had to burn those robes after the last charm because I couldn’t remove the saliva stains.”

He winked at her. “You’re just a messy dreamer, is all.”

Holding one of the charms up, she glanced between him and the possible daydream. “An hour, right?”

Taking the charm pill from her hand, he tapped her bottom lip for her to open her mouth. “Sweet dreams, Granger.” Popping it under her tongue, he grinned wickedly. “Remember to thank me later.”

~*~

_He stood in the doorway to her office again, except this time the cowl was removed from his platinum head. Three months had done nothing to diminish her ache for him._

_“Draco?”_

_He said nothing as he closed the door and warded the room with silencing spells, ensuring they wouldn’t be heard. How was that possible with his magic restrained to almost nothing?_

_“I’ve brought you the next formula,” he drawled with a seductive smirk, sparing an interested glance at the unconscious form of Luna Lovegood sprawled out on the sofa._

_Hermione was beginning to feel claustrophobic with his presence in the room, something she’d never suffered from before, so she rose from her swivel chair and met him in the middle, preventing him from approaching any further._

_“Thank you. I’ll look them over later,” she said in a hopefully forceful tone as she held out her hand for the report._

_Draco shook his head, his stormy eyes piercing her with their intense study. “I want you to look them over… now.” He held the parchments away from her grasping hand._

_Lips pursed, she made a small leap to grab the paper from his outstretched hand, but he was taller than her by several inches, and instead, she landed against his chest. Preparing to apologize for accidentally hitting him, she felt strong, lean arms circle around her shoulders, trapping her against his body._

_“If you wanted to touch me, Granger, all you had to do was ask,” Draco purred in her ear as he nuzzled her hairline, flinging the parchment to land on Luna’s face._

_“Let go of me, Malfoy,” she gritted through clenched teeth, struggling within his embrace._

_“So it’s back to Malfoy, is it?” he hissed, tightening his arms. “What happened to Draco, the piteous, fallen and scarred war hero you wanted to save? Have you changed your tune so quickly?”_

_Waiting until he was once again looking her in the eye, she softened her gaze. “I never pitied you, Draco.”_

_Fiery anger leapt into his stare as he forced her to move back until her bum rested against the edge of the desk. “Then what, in the name of Circe, do you want with me?” he spat out, clenching his long fingers around her slender shoulders hard enough for her to gasp in pain._

_“You’re hurting me,” she whimpered. “Please let me go or I’ll have to report—”_

_“Answer the bloody question!” he roared, shaking her a bit._

_“Because you deserve a chance!” she screamed back at him, tears slowly making their way down her cheeks. “I want you to have possibilities, opportunities that are fair and allow room for mistakes.”_

_Placing both hands on the desktop on either side of her hips, Draco leaned in until their lips were a hairsbreadth away. “Why?”_

_She bit her lower lip to keep from blurting out her real reason. “I’m in a position to—”_

_“Why?”_

_“Some in the Wizarding world are still biased against the Malfoy name and I thought—”_

_“Why?”_

_Closing her eyes in defeat, she leaned her forehead against his. “Because I care.”_

_It clearly wasn’t what he wanted to hear from the look he was giving her, but it was the closest he was going to get to the truth without physically beating it out of her—which she supposed was still an option. Parting the front of her robes, he splayed his wide hands on either side of her hips, rubbing soothing circles on her abdomen with his thumbs. She idly wondered if he knew she was well and truly on her way to feeling something more than just caring when he felt her breathy pants on his face._

_“Hermione,” he whispered, then closed the gap between their lips._

_A maelstrom of emotion flooded them both as they devoured the taste of one another, one dark, the other light, together creating a world where shades of gray were acceptable._

_Reaching behind her, Draco swept everything except the potted ivy plant off her desk and laid her back over it, her legs dangling off the edge. Sliding his hands up her thighs, he spread them and flipped the hem of her skirt up, revealing lacy purple knickers. He smiled at her, quirking an eyebrow in question at the obvious blend of safety with a hint of daring underclothing. She wondered if in the future he could persuade her to wear nothing at all._

_Kneeling down, he nipped at the inner flesh, savouring her skin until he reached the juncture of her thighs. He inhaled deeply, his senses filling with her musky scent and the soap she’d used to cleanse her body. When she trembled at his close proximity to her core, he paused for a moment to straighten up, looking at her flushed face as she leaned back on her elbows._

_“Has no one ever done this before?”_

_Her flush deepened, becoming a bright crimson. “I’ve only ever snogged Viktor and Ron.”_

_He sighed, laying his forehead against her knee. “Let me guess… you were saving yourself for the redheaded git, right?”_

_She huffed a stray curl off her face. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t know if he would have ever gotten around to it.”_

_Biting down gently on the cord of muscle near her apex, he glared ferociously at her. “Well, this is mine now.” He ran a finger along the dampness of her knickers, applying pressure near her clit. “No one else’s, are we clear?”_

_She nodded, not trusting her voice._

_Tucking his tongue behind his teeth, he leered at her as he began stroking the material harder, making her squirm. “Say it, Hermione.”_

_“Yours, only yours,” she gasped._

_“Good girl.” Shifting the sodden cotton to one side, he delved two fingers into her wet quim, his thumb lightly tapping on her rigid button as he slowly pumped in and out of her warmth._

_He smirked when he heard her sob as he removed his hand before replacing it with his mouth, lapping at her essence. Tonguing her folds, he began humming when her fingers threaded through his blond locks, massaging his scalp._

_“Draco,” she whispered, “I-I can’t… something…”_

_“Let it happen, love,” he rasped, sucking her clit between his lips._

_She screamed his name in bliss, her shout ear-splitting in its intensity, and Draco figured she’d never had an actual orgasm before, only phantom feelings as she matured from teen to woman. While she tried to buck from the spasms in her womb, he held her pelvis steady, continuing to lick her until she was shaking from overstimulation._

_“You scream loud enough to wake the dead, Hermione,” Luna said from far away._

“What?” she coughed, trying to sit up from her position on the desk, only to discover she was still in her chair, hair plastered to the side of her face.

Rubbing her gritty eyes, the dreamy set of her gaze unfocused, she stared at her friend and co-worker, who sported a totally satisfied grin. “Are you real?” Hermione asked hesitantly, trying to determine if she was still daydreaming.

Luna giggled and sighed. “Harry has the biggest—”

“Don’t finish that sentence!” Hermione squealed, clapping her hands over her ears.

The other girl frowned. “Nose?”

Pushing her damp hair away from her cheek, Hermione chuckled hesitantly. “Oh! I thought you were going to say—”

“Penis?”

Hermione gaped at her.

“What? Harry’s got a perfectly adequate penis, but his nose… Merlin, what that man can do with it.”

So many obscene images flashed through Hermione’s brain at that moment, she became ill. “I-I-I don’t want to know.” 

“You look thoroughly happy, I must say,” Luna observed.

Getting to her shaky feet, Hermione grabbed her dress robe and sprinted to the door. “Isn’t it lunchtime? I hear the canteen has baked spaghetti today.”

“Mmmh, noodles,” Luna cooed. Preceding her friend out the door, she mused, “I do hope they have pudding, too.”

Smiling in spite of herself, Hermione shut the door and took a deep, fortifying breath, hoping against hope that she’d be able to look Draco in the eye the next time she met with him.

~*~

“The elves worked long and hard to make that,” Luna pointed out, watching her friend shove the food around on her plate. “I don’t think they’d understand if you brutalized that poor meatball again.”

Dropping her fork with a clang, Hermione buried her face in her hands. “Have you seen his latest formula, Luna? He’s found the cure for Muggle cancer! This just isn’t right,” she groaned.

Slurping a noodle, Luna shrugged. “Which part? The fact that he can’t use magic or that the Ministry is using him?”

A rough cough, as if someone was choking, sounded behind the women then subsided.

“Both. It’s disgusting really. I talked to Kingsley the other day, and I told him that Draco had consistently produced excellent work. I insisted he’d more than paid his debt to society with three months worth of important discoveries, and you know what Kingsley said to me?”

“You’re going to tell me, aren’t you?”

“He said, ‘Miss Granger, it was damn near impossible to gain a commute on that spoiled brat’s sentence because of your testimony; what makes you think the Wizengamot would consider granting him a lighter pardon?’”

Another round of spluttering issued from the cloaked figure behind the women.

“I hope that person sees the Mediwitch; it sounds like they have a nasty case of Loser’s Lurgy,” Luna observed casually. “I hope they stop the spread before it reaches their—”

Violent retching echoed in the cafeteria, followed by a grunt and a snort.

“I think they just need a good slap on the back,” Hermione muttered, still in a foul mood. 

Luna narrowed her eyes as she stared at the convex image that could be seen on her spoon through the wooden partition at her back. Angling her silverware, she caught a glimmer of white hair beneath a black hood. Glancing at Hermione, who was still knee-deep in complaining, she studied the shadowy man as a thought took hold.

“So, you still won’t tell Draco that you were the one responsible for his release?” Luna asked innocently, a lopsided grin on her lips.

“No!” Hermione hissed. “Especially not now.”

“Why not now?” she asked in confusion.

“Not after that charm…” the curly-haired witch trailed off, knowing she’d revealed too much to her friend. 

The former Ravenclaw grinned madly at her. “So, George Weasley’s Daydream Charm was a success, huh?” She darted her eyes to the spoon and noticed the dark figure was listening raptly. “I take it your fantasy was about Draco?”

“Luna Starshine Lovegood! Don’t you dare breathe a word of that to anyone, do you hear?”

“What would I breathe? You haven’t told me anything yet.”

“And I won’t either.”

Since Hermione wasn’t going to discuss her daydream, Luna decided to do it for her. “I bet he was tall, dark and forbidden, dashingly handsome…”

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “Merlin’s bones, Luna, he was all that and more.”

“And? What did he do?”

“That,” she started, turning very pink, “is none of your business.”

“So that’s why you screamed his name.” Luna giggled as she continued watching the spoon image, noticing him smile wickedly.

“Shhh! Do you want the whole Ministry to hear?”

Luna looked around the eating area. “Hermione, there’s only Perceval Huntley over by the exit and John Doe looking at the advertisements; I doubt they heard me.”

“John Doe isn’t his real name,” Hermione corrected. “He’s just incognito.”

“Well, I don’t think his undercover persona heard me either.”

Hermione sighed sadly. “It doesn’t matter, though… not really.”

Taking her friend’s hand, Luna held it tightly. “The truth will set you free.”

Her friend stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“You say that Draco deserves a chance to prove himself, right?” At Hermione’s nod, she continued. “I happen to agree. But he also deserves to know the truth.”

She snorted mirthlessly. “If I were a successful, high-ranking pure-blood, yes.” She clenched her fists in frustration. “But I’m not. I’m just a Muggle-born witch who wanted to right an injustice and got in way over her head.”

“I think you meant to say heart,” Luna teased lightly.

“That too. I just don’t know what to do, or how to solve this problem.”

“What does your head tell you to do?”

“To hold a hunger strike until Kingsley relents and grants him his full powers, thus allowing him a greater chance to recover.”

Laughing softly, Luna figured that solution was totally Hermione Granger. Darting a glance to the cloudy image, she noticed the man was leaning against the wooden slats, as if in pain. Returning her attention to her friend, she prompted, “And what does your heart tell you?”

“That’s so easy it’s frightening, Luna. To help him, to heal him, to… touch him, learn more of his secrets, no matter how dark. To help him rebuild his life.”

“Why?” Luna asked, unaware that it was _that_ question Malfoy had repeated so many times in Hermione’s daydream. 

“Because I care,” she whispered.

“You’ll never tell him, will you?” Luna said sadly, the question rhetorical. 

Hermione scooted her chair back and stood. “Some things are better left unsaid.” With that, she left the cafeteria and headed back to her office.

Luna remained seated until she watched Draco Malfoy shift out of the booth behind her and head down the stairs to the chambers well below the Ministry to complete his work, never looking back to see if she’d spotted him.

~*~

Draco stood as far back as he could within the spacious lift, noting the people embarking and departing, totally ignoring his presence. That was until _she_ stepped into the car. 

Hermione startled somewhat, but recovered promptly, moving to stand in front of him and slightly to the left in the crowded lift. She never turned to acknowledge him, nor did she speak, remaining silent through most of the stops. 

At the Department of Internal Affairs, an office created after the fall of Voldemort, Hermione was roughly pushed backwards as several people bustled into the already full car. Without thought, Draco wrapped his hands around her waist to steady her and keep her from falling, retaining his grip on her hips even though she was safe. Daringly, he pulled her rigid frame closer to his own as he fully encompassed her middle with his large palms, breathing out slowly when she finally relaxed against him.

“Thank you,” she said quietly as she tried to pry his hands from her waist.

Instead of removing them, he twined his fingers with hers and held her captive. “You’re welcome.” 

Someone in a bowler hat glanced at the pair, recognized Draco, and sneered before turning away. Malfoy groaned internally and leaned his head against the wall of the lift, wishing he could hex the interloper into the next century. 

It came as a great shock when, in response to the nosey man, Hermione stopped struggling within the Slytherin’s grasp and instead squeezed his hand in support. “It’s okay, Draco; most of these people wouldn’t know intelligence if it bit them on the arse.”

Several gasps issued forth from the affronted passengers, and all of them departed from the car at the next stop, leaving the two alone. Draco let her go and pressed the STOP button before the lift could move to another floor.

“Where are you going?” he asked in a low voice, his face very close to hers, his hands returning to her hips.

She swallowed audibly. “To see Shacklebolt.”

He glanced at the control panel. Two more floors to go. “Why?”

Frowning, she began to struggle once more. “None of your—”

“Business, yes… I know that. But I’m asking you why, please.” Removing one hand from her hip, Draco cupped her jaw, his thumb caressing her cheek. “Did I do something to displease you?”

Becoming very still at his touch, she slowly raised her eyes to his. “No.” She sighed, noticing the once inflamed wound was now a silver streak running the length of his face. “Your scar… it’s...”

Taking one of her soft hands in his, he laid it against the savaged half of his countenance. “You healed me.”

Sadness tinged her gaze. “I did nothing.”

Gripping her chin, he lowered his lips until they lay just over hers. “You cared.” He closed the remaining distance and indulged in one of the sweetest kisses he’d ever known.

He no longer needed to trap her palm as she threaded her fingers through his now lengthy locks, tugging him closer, her other arm wrapping around his back when he deepened the kiss. Gods, but this woman was responsive and tasted of honey, her curls smelling of night-blooming jasmine, seductive and spicy. 

Hermione whimpered when Draco buried one hand in her wild mane and pulled, arching her head so that her throat was bared to his questing mouth for him to pepper it with loving nips. This was by far better than her daydream, exceeding all her fantasies. 

Draco arched his hips until her heated core rested against the bulge in his trousers, her legs splayed on either side, her back against the wall of the lift. Hooking one knee on his arm, he pulled it around his waist, widening her stance further, causing her to tremble as she had in her daydream.

Sensing her nervous hesitation, he slowly ended the kiss, sucking on her bottom lip and biting it gently. He then lowered the leg he’d placed around his middle, allowing her to gain her footing before stepping away. 

“I want to see you,” he informed her, taking in her glassy-eyed look. 

Her mind still clearly in a fog, she answered, “You are seeing me.” 

Chuckling lightly, he tugged on one of her curls. “Have dinner with me,” he implored.

She blinked owlishly. “You want to go out on a date?”

Did she need to make it sound so distasteful? “Is that a problem?”

“I-I just didn’t think you’d want to be seen—”

“I can’t do anything more about my face, Granger,” he growled, hitting the STOP button once again and allowing the lift to resume its path.

“You know, I’m tired of everyone interrupting me, thinking they know what I’m going to say before I do!”

“What are you on about?”

“I was about to say that I didn’t think you’d want to be seen with the likes of _me_ , Draco Malfoy,” she snapped. “And your face has nothing to do with it.”

The lift stopped, announcing its destination, and Hermione made her way out of the car but turned before it left. “I happen to think you’re quite handsome, and I’d be honoured to go to dinner with you,” she huffed, and marched into the Minister of Magic’s main chambers, slamming the door in her wake.

Draco smirked mischievously. “Oh, Granger,” he sniggered. “You have no idea whom you’re dealing with.” He pressed the button that would take him to his work area, forgetting the reason he was on the lift in the first place, as well as Hermione’s reason for visiting Kingsley.

With a plan forming in his mind, he made a mental note to contact his godfather, Snape, and arrange a visit. After all… if one was to trap a Gryffindor, one had to use Slytherin tactics.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re looking well,” Draco drawled as he stepped past the dark man and into his chambers.

Severus Snape schooled his immediate reaction upon seeing the man, the resemblance to his sire so uncanny that, for a brief moment, he believed he’d opened the door to a youthful Lucius Malfoy. “You need a haircut,” he grunted.

Draco arched a brow. “So do you.”

“You look like your father.” Snape sat down behind his desk, folding his hands in front of him.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Draco said with a smirk as he sunk into a leather chair facing his old professor. “He was quite handsome.”

“Believe what you wish.”

“Jealous?”

“Hardly.” The sneer curling Snape’s lips would’ve frightened most adults, but had no influence on the younger Malfoy. 

Tilting his head, Draco studied his former Potions professor. “Did you even like my father, Severus?”

“Obviously I did at some point, for he made me your godfather.”

“But now?” he prompted, curious as to where Snape’s current loyalties lay.

“Let’s just say I never developed the _taste_ for cruelty that he tended to savour,” Severus answered, his tone full of implications.

“You performed your duties for Voldemort without surpass, reaching beyond even my father,” Draco pointed out. “Are you saying you’re a hypocrite?”

Snape’s hand slammed on the desk top in violent reaction. “I see a stint in Azkaban has not served to teach you any manners! I had a part to play—one where I was used by both sides, my only vow to a woman I loved, whose sentiment was not returned. Had my life been my own, I would’ve produced enough reluctance to even garner your attention, Draco.”

A faint, pink tinge of embarrassment crept onto the young man’s face. “I understand.”

“Yes,” Severus hissed. “I suppose you do, seeing as you’re in the same predicament yourself at present.”

Getting to the heart of the matter, Draco asked, “What do you know of my release?” 

“Nothing,” the other replied in a neutral tone.

“Really?” Draco leaned forward and watched Snape intently. “I have it on good authority that Hermione Granger orchestrated my lesser sentence.”

Severus neither said a word to the contrary, nor did he even so much as twitch a muscle, waiting for Draco to continue. He hadn’t remained a spy for all those years without a great deal of patience and a practiced mask of indifference.

“What? Did your contacts in the Ministry forget to mention that part?” Draco questioned snidely. “How was it that Granger was the one who came to my rescue, and not you?”

Severus relaxed into the chair, lips thinned. “I gather she had her reasons.”

“You’re protecting her.” 

The older man frowned. “To what end?”

A sly smile curled on Draco’s mouth. “She holds something over you.” He noticed Snape absently stroke the ragged scar on his neck, and his eyes widened, comprehension flooding his mind. “You owe her a life debt, don’t you?”

“Damn it, boy!” Snape snarled. “Do you _ever_ mind your own business?”

“I’ve been told quite frequently that I don’t, so no, I suppose not.”

Standing abruptly, Snape came around his desk and towered imperiously over his wayward godson. “Why are you here?”

Rising, Draco met him for height and looked just as annoyed. “I’m tired of being kept in the dark.” He fidgeted somewhat, rubbing the back of his neck. “I overheard a conversation that left me unsettled; one I am sure _I_ was not to be aware of.”

“Did you reveal yourself?”

He shrugged. “I don’t believe so, but I lost focus towards the end of the discussion.”

“You would’ve made an abominable spy,” Snape said with a sneer.

Draco crossed his arms and gave him a knowing look. “I could never live up to the best, now, could I?”

“Careful where you tread, Malfoy.”

“Tell me why I was let go,” the young man demanded.

Severus arched a dark brow. “How would I fathom the mind of the know-it-all? As I said, she apparently observed something worthy within your actions and seized the opportunity to obtain your freedom. She’s not a Slytherin, Draco, I doubt she had ulterior motives.”

“No one is that generous with their time or their resources, no matter how noble.”

“Explain.”

Threading his fingers through his long locks, Draco huffed in irritation. “She… she’s fast-tracked all my work through the Ministry, so instead of taking months to be approved and restitution dispersed, it’s only a matter of days before I get my stipend from Shacklebolt.” 

Moving away and gazing blankly at the shelves lining the dungeon wall, he continued. “I can barely support myself and I’ve had to sell off some antiques, but I’m always finding an extra Galleon or two inconspicuously placed around the lab.” He snorted. “I don’t know who’s doing it, her or that lack-brained assistant of hers.”

“Maybe she genuinely cares for you,” Snape posed hesitantly. “If that is her motivation then it would stand to reason that she would not wish you to fail in your endeavour to fulfil your sentence.” 

“Maybe.”

“Have you spoken to Miss Granger about her behaviour?”

“Not as of yet, but I am having dinner with her in two days, and I intend to find out the truth. I also need a gift.”

“A gift?” Snape sounded incredulous. “Whatever for?”

“Although you may have never received a gift for your birthday, I do believe it’s common practice, and since it’s her birthday in two days time, I’d like to—”

“Impertinent whelp!” Severus snapped. “Of course I’ve received presents.” He glared. “It is dangerous to assume things about me, Draco,” he warned in a low tone. “Very dangerous.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Taking a step back, Snape turned and went to his apothecary cabinet. “What sort of _gift_ do you have in mind?”

“I’ll be making her a charm bracelet, but I wish to imbue a light truth spell that will prevent—”

The slamming of a wooden and glass door interrupted Draco. “I can’t allow you to harm Miss Granger.” Severus’ voice held a threat, as did his stance, wand at the ready.

Out of habit, Draco reached for his own wand to defend himself, only to realize it couldn’t leave the boundaries of Malfoy Manor. “Bloody hell, Severus!” he shouted, hands raised in surrender. “I mean the girl no harm!”

“We all know your history with charmed jewellery,” the other said flatly, referring to the necklace and Katie Bell affair. “It would be most unfortunate if the same thing were to happen to Miss Granger.”

The tip of the wand was now laid against Draco’s temple. “I swear to you on my father’s grave, I mean Hermione no mischief.”

“Then why the truth potion?”

“Because.”

“Come now, Malfoy… _because_ was never an acceptable answer in any of my classes, why should I allow it now?”

“Because she will never willingly admit the truth that she cares for me if I don’t use it,” he ground out reluctantly, his face mottled red.

Snape lowered his wand and studied his godson, taking in the panicked quality residing in the young man’s eyes. 

“See my face?” Draco pointed to his silver scar. “No magic, no potions, nothing healed this until she touched the wound.”

“She has a habit of doing that,” Severus admitted quietly. Reaching up, he pulled down the collar surrounding his ravaged throat area. “I would not have survived otherwise.”

Branches of silver scar tissue covered his neck from just beneath his jaw all the way to his shoulder, the appearance much like that of a tangled spider’s web. The tissue damage was extensive from Nagini’s bite—blast the wretched serpent—and he’d held little hope of remaining amongst the living until Hermione had come back to the Shrieking Shack and laid her hands on his wound.

“It seems the Gryffindor ninny is in the wrong line of work,” Snape observed as he moved away. “I’ve never encountered that particular skill of non-verbal healing magic.”

“It’s as if she leaves a bit of herself behind, within you,” Draco rasped. 

“Yes,” Snape said absently. Looking over at his charge, he scrutinized, “You care for the girl, regardless of her motives.”

“She liberated me from Azkaban, allowed me more freedom than another would have in her position… and healed my wound.”

Snape’s nostrils flared in irritation. “It’s a simple fact, Draco, you care for the girl—I can see it in you. Admitting it is not a weakness.”

Draco squared his shoulders into a defiant stance, throwing up a shield in his mind. “I will admit to nothing—stay out of my head!”

“Typical Malfoy.” Snape tsk’d, inwardly amused. 

Affronted at the jibe to his namesake, Draco raised his voice. “Just what are you implying?”

“Cowardly, spineless, willing to let others accept the blame, constantly lamenting the circumstances which _you_ created.” With every word he hurled at the young man, he advanced towards him, deliberately pushing him. “Unwilling to admit defeat, prideful, lazy, arrogant—”

“Stop!” Draco shouted when he was backed into a stone wall. “I am _none_ of those things!” He seethed, before adding quietly, “Not to her.”

“But the rest of the wizarding world sees you quite differently.”

“It doesn’t matter. As long as she sees me with her typical, rose-colored glasses, then it is enough.”

An amused thought quirked Snape’s mouth. “You have no idea what she’s done, do you?”

“Other than what I mentioned, no.”

He snorted. “You fool, she’s already seen the deepest, darkest part of you—there are no rose-colored visions that paint her mind.”

“What?” Draco whispered in horror.

“It must have developed during her seventh year,” Snape explained, backing away from Draco. “It’s a cross between Legilimency and a complex elemental magic. The moment her hands touch your flesh, she can see inside you, into your twisted self-image,” he murmured. “It’s how she heals… from the inside out. This much I’ve learned firsthand. When her hands touch you, transference of energy takes place. I have not had the opportunity to study the skill at any length, so my knowledge of her ability is meagre at best. I did not seek her help, nor did I welcome it.” He opened his cabinet once more, searching for ingredients. “I felt I’d earned my eternal rest and was quite prepared to meet oblivion. Miss Granger had other ideas,” he quipped sardonically. 

“It’s extremely disconcerting to have a former student travel willy-nilly around in your mind,” he said with a slight shudder. “Have no doubt: I tried to fight it, but in my weakened condition, I was no match for even a first-year student, let alone the noble Gryffindor.”

“She’s very persistent,” Draco concurred.

Severus nodded. “It’s one of her least infuriating traits, mind you. Have you experienced the full effect of her ‘bleeding heart’ tendencies?”

“I was witness to her S.P.E.W. campaign in school, but I’ve overheard about some others she wished to rescue,” Draco stated, though he never told Snape he had a suspicion that _he_ was the pet in question she’d intended to save.

“Yes, well, I was her project for a number of months,” Snape confessed bitterly. Then he stared for a long moment at Draco. “I will help you, but you must give me an Unbreakable Vow that you will not reveal what I have told you… nor will you hurt the girl in _any_ fashion.” He held his wand aloft and offered his left arm.

Draco clasped Severus near the elbow. “I swear I will not harm Hermione Granger in any form, nor will I tell her what you have imparted to me in confidence, this I vow.”

A thin cord of green light wound its way around the joined arms, pressing into their skin until it disappeared. Severus’ soul seemed a great deal lighter in retrospect, while Draco took on a weighted look about him.

Releasing the boy, Snape drew out several bottles and a single piece of bulky burlap. “I will write up the formula and the exact instructions you are to follow. Deviate from any part of it and you’ll most likely kill her.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “I thought that’s what we were trying to avoid?”

Snape smirked. “I’m merely providing the means you requested. It’s up to you to use it properly.” As an afterthought, he asked, “Do you have something personal of hers?”

“Will this do?” Draco held several strands of Hermione’s hair between his fingers, a token of their earlier snog.

“I don’t want to know how you obtained those, do I?” Snape questioned, narrowing his eyes.

Draco grinned. “She has the softest lips.”

“Spare me the details, Malfoy, I don’t want to lose my lunch.” Grabbing the tresses and unwrapping the burlap cloth, he wound the whiskey-coloured threads around the stone that was revealed. “Do not remove these until you’ve read the directions, understood?” He covered the stone once more and laid the bundle inside a metal box.

“Yes, sir.”

“In order to bind her to the truth, you will need three drops of your blood, thus ensuring she is completely honest with you… and _only_ you,” Snape clarified. “She can lie to whomever she wishes, except you.”

“How very Slytherin of you, Severus,” Draco commented in a smug tone.

Looking down his nose, Snape snorted. “It’s why you came to me, is it not?”

Taking the metal box that contained everything he needed from his godfather, Draco nodded briefly and stood before the door. “I would trust no one else with my life.” He grinned wickedly and departed.

“Your life is exactly what it will require,” Snape said to the empty room.

~*~

“Draco, it’s breathtaking!” Hermione gasped as she lifted the silver charm bracelet from the velvet box. He had presented it to her after they’d had a modest dinner in the informal dining room. 

Intricate platinum baubles in sets of three were strung together, a dangling charm separating each set, every tiny object representing something different in Hermione’s life so far. The Gryffindor charm was in the shape of the mythical animal as it reared up and licked her finger, nipping at her flesh. The next was an extremely good likeness of Dobby, who waved at her and proudly showed her his S.P.E.W. button. Tears misted her eyes when he smiled, missing the brave House-elf who had perished while protecting their lives in this very mansion. 

Next was the image of her beloved Crookshanks, who was lost during the final battle, batting at one of the silver baubles hanging down. Occasionally he’d look at her and meow, but then he’d continue licking his paw… or worse, his privates. Hermione rolled her eyes at this, figuring only Malfoy would conjure something so disgusting into the charm. 

A miniaturized tome was the fourth charm, and she squinted to read the title of the book, squealing when she saw that it was _Hogwarts: A History_ , her favourite volume. The last charm was a twinkling flower, and she stared at it in confusion.

“What is this one?” she asked, pointing to the petals.

Draco took the bracelet from her hands and slid it over her delicate wrist. “It’s one of the earrings you wore to the Yule Ball in fourth year.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles. “Happy birthday.”

“It’s so beautiful… and thoughtful,” she said softly. A warm sensation filled her the moment the bracelet rested against her skin, making her feel light-headed and dizzy. “Gods… did you know that the firelight casts your face in dark and mysterious shadows?” she observed a little breathlessly.

“More wine?” he asked, watching her closely for any signs that she was in distress.

“No, thank you.” She shook her head, immediately regretting it. “M-may I use your loo, though?”

“Of course,” he said, standing with her and showing the way to the hidden room just off the side of the main entrance.

Standing in the doorway, she gazed at him longingly. “I love your scar.” Then she shut the door.

Once she was ensconced in the room, Draco thumped his head on the wall behind him. _Blasted Snape! I followed your directions, you never said there’d be side effects!_ he thought, having seen how disoriented she appeared after he’d placed the bracelet on her.

Many moments later, he heard the water running then the door opened for Hermione to step out from the room. “I think I’ve had too much to wine,” she announced. When she hiccupped, Draco felt relieved, believing she might indeed have had too much to drink.

“Maybe you should sit down,” he suggested. 

“That would be nice, yes.” She laid her hand on his proffered arm. “That would help settle my equilibrium since I drank too much and you make me feel giddy.”

“Do I, now?” he asked as innocently as he could, delighted that she removed her hand to wind her arm around his waist for better support.

“I think you like making me feel off-balanced, Malfoy.” The accusation was light-hearted, and she pouted for effect. “You did so all throughout our school years.” With his help, she sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace, and he lit a few candles. “Calling me all those horrid names, making fun of my hair and teeth…”

Sitting next to her, he turned so he was half-facing her. “Would you believe me if I said I was sorry?”

Paying no attention to his question, she instead studied him in the low light, noticing how many fine lines had appeared at the corners of his eyes and the dark circles beneath his otherwise pale flesh. “You have skin the colour of fine porcelain,” she whispered.

“A product of pure-blood inbreeding,” he informed casually. He blinked. _Bloody hell! How embarrassing. No, no… I did not just say that, did I?_ “I mean that I just don’t… know… howmanygenerationswereinbred.” He spluttered the last part so quickly it caused Hermione to stare at him in confusion. 

Not to mention Draco was pretty confused as well.

“You’re actually admitting that pure-bloods are inbred? Wow! So, does that mean in some obscure way, you’re related to Harry?” Her eyes lit up, thinking of the possibilities. “You could be like his… fifth or sixth cousin, twice removed, or something along those lines.”

“I don’t want to be related to Potter because I’m jealous of all the attention he got in school when all I wanted was a fucking friend!” he ground out, unable to stop himself in his anger from saying it. 

Her eyes widened. “Really? Is that why you tormented us all that time? I bet it’s like a trickledown theory—the bully of the school is bullied at home so he has to take out his aggression elsewhere, namely the student body.”

“And you!” He was on a roll now and his tongue just wouldn’t stop. “So bloody perfect, outstanding marks every time! Do you know how much I suffered because I wasn’t as good as you? And all the while, my father spouting that blood purity shite, when it made no difference at all.”

“You don’t think I’m a dirty, Mud—”

“You’re the kindest, most beautiful soul I’ve known, and I’m so goddamn disgusted with myself for hurting you all those years.”

Suddenly, his arms were full of a smiling Hermione as she straddled his lap, caressing his face with her nimble fingers. “Do you know how much I _really_ like you at this moment?”

Gripping her hips, he raised his own until there was no doubt about his feelings. “As much as I like you?” he asked with hope.

“We’re going to snog like crazy, aren’t we?”

Shifting her more snugly over his erection, he moaned. “Yes!”

Hermione crashed her mouth to his in a brutal, passion-filled fury, as if she were trying to crawl beneath his skin and stay there. He returned the heat by slanting his mouth over hers, deepening the contact until she was trembling like she had before, in the lift.

“Hermione,” he panted, touching her lips. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

She rubbed her core against the hard outline of his cock, loving the feel of his large hands splayed across her backside. “You ruined me for other men.”

He stilled her movements. “Me? But I thought…”

Pressing a kiss to the scar on his cheek, she nuzzled his face. “I’ve thought about you since third year,” she admitted. “When I slapped you, I felt your skin… it was so smooth and fine, and I longed to keep touching it. I couldn’t understand it, so I buried the feelings. They didn’t resurface again until our seventh year, but by that time, there was nothing that could be done about them.”

Groaning, he threaded his fingers through her curls, holding her steady as he looked into her glassy eyes. “You want _me_?” Could it be true? He almost didn’t trust his ears. It all made sense now, what Snape had told him about her powers asserting themselves and saving Severus from certain death after Nagini’s bite.

Tracing his bottom lip with her thumb, she smiled softly and gazed down at him with such emotion shining in her eyes that she felt them tear up. “Yes, I want _you_.”

Pulling her close, he laid his weary head on her chest, burying his nose in her cleavage. “I’ve waited for so long to hear those words from someone…”

Stroking his hair, twinning the strands between her fingers, she said, “You know I care deeply about you.” It was a statement, not a question.

Pressing closer, he pulled the V-neck of her shirt to the side and palmed her breast, loving the black sheer lace that covered her nipple. Tugging the cup down, he suckled on the rouged peak. 

“You more than care,” he said against her skin. “You love, with everything you are, with everything you do,” he murmured. “It permeates your life.”

Head thrown back from the sensations running throughout her body, Hermione couldn’t help but moan when he flipped the hem of her skirt and his questing fingers found her sodden knickers, swiping over the sensitive bud. “Oh, gods, Draco.”

Moving the fabric aside, he inserted a finger in her opening, growling when her warm sheath clutched at his long digit. “Merlin, Hermione, if you’re this wet now, just imagine what my cock will feel like.”

Giving no thought to how eager she might appear, she began moving her hips, seeking the friction of Draco’s talented hand, whimpering when he lightly tapped on her clit. “That feels so—”

“Bloody fantastic,” he answered for her, inserting another finger as her movements increased.

“I-I feel, like… something is…”

“Let it happen, love,” he whispered.

The pressure, combined with the words he’d said only in her daydream, caused a crescendo to fill her soul, and she shouted his name into the dark sitting room of the mansion. Falling over the precipice, she clutched at Draco’s shoulders until the shuddering subsided.

Withdrawing his fingers, he licked them clean of her spendings, basking in the rich scent and tang of her body. He smiled wickedly when he noticed her eyes glaze over greedily. “Want a taste?” he dared to ask, knowing her lack of experience might have her reject the very idea.

Her smirk was his answer as she scooted off his lap and knelt at his feet. Unbuckling his belt, she then unbuttoned his trousers and slid them below his hips to reveal black boxer-briefs. Leaning over his thighs, she grabbed the waistband with her teeth and slowly pulled them down his body, worrying at his look of shock once she was done. “Did I do that right?” she asked nervously.

“Bloody hell, woman!” he groaned. “Where did you learn that?”

Now, of all times, her face became crimson. “Luna said that her and Harry—”

“I never want to hear that name when I’m looking at you between my legs,” he admonished, laying a finger over her lips. 

She smiled shyly and ducked her head, finishing his divestment until he was naked to her hungry gaze. 

“I hardly think it fair that I’m completely starkers here, and you’re still fully clothed,” he complained. “Be a goddess and rid yourself of those infernal garments.”

Laughing, she _Accio’d_ her wand and cast a spell that removed her attire, then folded the articles of clothing in a neat pile for later, smiling proudly when Draco called her a clever witch. At first she was bashful, covering her breasts with her hands, but he would have none of it. 

Gently removing her hands, he kissed the back of each and laid them on his thighs. “You’re beautiful, don’t hide from me.”

Blushing profusely, she threaded her fingers through the sparse hair on his legs until she came to edge of his cock, lightly brushing against it, causing him to gasp. Waiting for him to regain his composure, she wrapped her right hand around his jutting erection, trying to quell her shiver of fear at its size. 

Seeing the trepidation in her eyes, Draco tenderly removed her fingers and pulled her onto his lap; he couldn’t take much more of her touching, or else this would all end. “Are you afraid?” he whispered in her ear.

She closed her eyes in mortification. “Yes, but not because of the act itself, or the pain I know will happen, but…”

He nuzzled her cheek. “But what?”

“I fear not being able to please you.”

Nipping her jaw, he grinned against her skin. “You’ve already pleased me, love… with your trust and support.”

Slapping his shoulder in mock outrage, she groused, “You know what I mean.”

Draco pulled her closer, gazing into her eyes. “Hermione, your trust and support means more to me than this,” he said, a wave of his hand encompassing their current situation. “Without those, I can’t accept what comes after.”

Feeling the truth of his words, she trailed her fingers down his chest, following the line of dark blond curls that led to the rigid shaft that was nestled against her mound. She lightly touched the tip, spreading the precome over his glans, thrilling with delight at his hissing.

“Much more of that and I’ll spill in your hand like a teenager,” he growled, grabbing her wrist and removing her fingers. 

“So, where would you like to spill?” she asked coyly. 

His eyes narrowed. “You little minx.” He watched her bring a finger up to her mouth and wrap her tongue around it, making him moan with need at the sight. “Just what has Luna told you?”

She rolled her eyes. “That girl has the strangest habits. I happened to catch her once watching a Muggle porn movie that involved naked pudding wrestling. I-I just stayed out of sight… and watched.”

“I was right, chit’s barmy,” he observed, but his attention was on the cock in his hand as he ran it up and down her wet slit, teasing her clit briefly by sliding his weeping tip over the tiny nub.

Unprepared for the sensation his actions brought, she lurched forward, grabbing his shoulders. “That feels vastly different… g-good.”

Grinning wickedly, he told her to rise up a bit so that he could manoeuvre himself to her entrance. She complied and he lined up his hard length with her wet passage, slowly easing the crown inside her hot core. He halted the moment she gasped, fervently searching her face for signs of reluctance or distress.

Biting her lower lip, desperate to still the little tingles that assaulted her muscles from his girth stretching her, she smiled tremulously and relaxed a little more, sinking ever so gradually until he reached her barrier. “Maybe it’ll hurt less if I treat this like ripping off a plaster,” she panted. “Quick and painful at first, but only for a short moment.”

Sweat dotted his brow from the effort to hold himself still. “Is that what you want?”

She took the decision from by forcefully sinking onto his thick cock, burying his length within her to the hilt. Tears seeped out the corner of her eyes as she felt her flesh parting and burning. Her fingernails were embedded in the skin of his shoulders while she became accustomed to the foreign sensations of having him so deep within her.

“I’ve got to move,” Draco hissed between clenched teeth. “Please.”

Blinking away the tears, she nodded and he promptly began pumping shallowly. After a few strokes the stinging sensation dulled, and she got the hang of his rhythm. She rose up and down in time on his engorged shaft, marvelling at how he stretched her even more, the pain mixing with an odd pleasure—one she was beginning to crave.

Angling his hips, Draco arched more deeply into her tight sheath, nearly biting his tongue to the point of bleeding to stave off his release. He’d never shagged an untried girl before and he was heartily glad that Hermione had decided to give this gift to him. He became distracted when she laid her palms on each of his cheeks, staring into his eyes as she started moving faster.

“See in me,” she purred.

Unable to break the stare, he felt her enter his mind, his shields completely useless against her highly developed power. Instead of infiltrating his thoughts however, she pulled him into hers.

Images assaulted his brain, ones of happiness, of sunny days lazing in an obscure garden, of love, laughter, and family. The thrusting of his hips against hers coincided with each image being seared into his brain, each one a healing balm against his battered soul.

His thrusts became wild as more of his spirit freed itself from the terrible bonds of his former life, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He thanked Merlin when the images subsided and he felt her walls begin to flutter around his aching cock. They were moving at a punishing speed, her throaty cries sounding like music to his ears.

“Gods, Draco!” Her fingers gripped strands of his long hair and she tugged on them mercilessly. 

“Ah, fuck!” he roared as his hot seed bathed her grasping core, his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her possessively.

He took her over the edge with him, the two of them falling together only to land in each other’s arms without an inch of skin to spare, both panting and slick with sweat. Leaning his forehead against her, he nuzzled her breast, content to just look at her body. Her skin tasted like the rain, her long legs and arms holding him safe within her warmth, her fingers massaging his scalp lovingly, her delicate wrists…

Sitting up suddenly, he grabbed hold of her upper arms, staring intently at her drowsy state. “Where’s the bracelet I gave you?”

She stilled and tried to put her hands on his face once more, but he stopped her from touching him. “I slipped it into your trouser pocket when I came out of the loo,” she whispered.

It made sense now, why he was the one that had been compelled to tell her the truth, and while it explained his actions, it didn’t explain hers. “Did you know what it was?” 

She bit her lip and looked away. “I realized what it was in the bathroom.” She trembled while he glowered at her as if angry. “I react strangely to some of the components of Veritaserum, or any derivative—it makes me light-headed and my eyes turn purple. When I looked into the mirror, I knew it had something to do with the bracelet you’d given me.” She hung her head. “What I don’t understand is why you gave me something like that. I thought… I thought you trusted me.”

Closing his eyes, and cursing himself for all kinds of foolishness, he cupped her. “It’s so easy to trust you, Hermione,” he admitted softly. “You’re guileless and open, never thinking of yourself—only of others.” He pulled her face down, his forehead touching hers. “It’s so much harder trusting myself.”

“I believe in you.” She breathed the words against his lips. 

“Why?” 

That damnable question again, but she didn’t evade answering it this time. “Because I care.”

“Everything you’ve said is true, isn’t it?” He placed tender kisses along her jaw after asking, praying that her answer was ‘yes’. 

She giggled in response to his ticklish nips. “Since the very beginning. And you?”

“Every bloody word,” he growled as he picked her up, their bodies still locked together.

They barely made it to the bedroom.

~*~

Around four in the morning, Hermione slipped from Draco’s embrace and padded to the sitting room to retrieve her clothes and use the loo before dressing. Afterwards, she made her way to the only working Floo in Malfoy Manor and stated her destination.

~*~

“I take it you realized what the bracelet was?” The question was rhetorical.

She smiled congenially. “I figured it out, though I could’ve done without the dizzy spell.”

“An unfortunate malady. I’m deeply sorry for my part in it.”

“Don’t be. That’s why I came to you.”

A mirthless laugh echoed in the chamber. “Does he suspect you knew all along?”

“I may have given him a hint, but unless he asks further, no… I will not tell him.”

“I never revealed the full extent of your ability.”

“I appreciate it, Severus.”

“Is my life debt repaid?”

She nodded and smiled. “When you came to me with memories of Draco, I had no idea it would bring me to this happiness. I’m glad you suggested that the Ministry re-open his case with my involvement, and no hint of your own, which would’ve shown favouritism.”

“Clever witch.” He smirked.

“Thank you for allowing me this opportunity to heal the wound of loneliness within myself.”

He absently rubbed the scars on his neck. “I felt you were well-suited for each other; both of you are highly intelligent, motivated, and… lonely.” He tilted his head and studied her. “It seemed the best way to unite you two would be to make him believe you’d concocted this plan on your own, thus removing the impediment of prison.”

“You won’t tell him, will you?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll leave that to you.” He patted her hand. “Now, I suggest you make another petition to the Ministry, that if Draco were to marry you, he would be restored his full use of magic. Then his ideas and formulas would not only help others, they would rebuild his fortune as well.”

She gasped in mock outrage. “How positively Slytherin of you, Severus!”

Snorting, he drawled, “And you, bleeding-heart Gryffindor, will stand for his cause and love him as no other, I take it?”

Standing, she moved to the Floo in his office. “Too late—already do.” She winked at her former professor and was gone in a flash of powder, leaving behind a laughing Snape.


End file.
